


Equilibrium

by OneforAll



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-29 21:57:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15738117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneforAll/pseuds/OneforAll
Summary: An interlude in Commodities.  As the group take shelter in the De la Fere mansion to tend to Porthos's injury, Athos and Aramis try to restore their balance as friends....





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vera d'AURIAC](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Vera+d%27AURIAC).



The first signs of twilight were just starting to creep in as Athos exited the front door of his ancestral home. The fading of leaden clouds into a slightly darker shade of grey registered on his senses in a peripheral manner. He closed his eyes for a moment. Took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Just a few minutes, he thought, to snatch some privacy, try and regain a little equilibrium: enough at least to maintain a facade of being in control in front of his friends and their prisoner, until this accursed mission was over.

For a moment a vision of the deep wound on Porthos’s back, oozing blood, loomed before him. Thanks to Aramis’s skill, all safely closed up now. Barring any more major mishaps, with time to rest, they could resume their journey to Paris.

Another deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. He opened his eyes and cast his gaze around the lawn in front of the house and driveway with surrounding woodland. Any hope that things might be better out here away from the confines of the house, where every wall resonated, with memories was dashed within seconds. It was just as bad. Images from the past assaulted his mind and senses. There to the left a tree that he and Thomas had climbed as children. The lawn before him where he’d brought Anne for the first time, helping her down from the carriage. He’d been so proud and happy, believing she would bring warmth and laughter into a household still mourning his Father’s loss. His eyes swept to the right towards the clearing that in summer would glow with the vivid blue of the forget-me-not: the flower that was to become a symbol of their love. He had to stay his quivering hand from reaching for the locket around his neck, the twin of which had once rested around his wife’s. After a moment of supreme effort he was able to stop himself because that would only lead to the visions of how she had looked at him the day he gave her the gift—as thrilled as if he’d presented her with a jewel fit to adorn the Queen’s neck. It would culminate in the last sighting he had of her, on the cart with the rope around her neck, as though it had been burned onto his retina. She had murdered his brother. The evidence was irrefutable; everything she had ever told him about herself was a tissue of lies. He’d found the strength to pass the sentence but not to stay to see it carried out. Turning away, his world shattered; his heart feeling as though it had been ripped in two…

It took all his strength of will not to fall back into that deadly spiral of regret/recrimination/lingering love which he’d carried with him since that fateful day. He wondered how what had begun as an interesting but not especially demanding assignment, seen as good experience for young D’Artagnan, had turned into a nightmare…

Athos had known right from Treville’s first briefing that their quickest way back from Le Havre would take them through the region near Pinon. Athos had thought himself mentally well-prepared for the journey: it was simply a matter of getting from A to B. They had found Bonnnaire much as the intelligence had described him: full of charm, chatter and duplicity. Despite the merchant’s efforts to allude arrest, the Musketeers had been one step ahead of him and the capture had been relatively easy.

They were heading into the Picardy region, making good progress, when it all started to unravel. Angry victims of their prisoner’s chicanery , bent on vengeance, had pursued their party from the coast. Athos recalled the ambush and fierce struggle that ensued. They’d escaped but not before Porthos had caught a vicious blow from an axe. He remembered their galloping through the forest, aware that at least one other party was pursuing them.

His personal problems had begun when he started to recongnise familiar points along the route and knew they were nearing his former home. Memories had started to invade his consciousness. The closer they got to Pinon and the La Fere estate, the stronger the images had grown, coming at him in waves. Struggling to stay in control, he’d clung to his duty as mission leader as if in some sort of a trance; just wanting to push on past this place he’d once called home, now poisoned for him. Until Aramis, angry, impassioned, puzzled, had to literally shake him back to his senses. Another ripple of shame passed through the Musketeer and he shivered. Now he had yet another misjudgement to add to the quota that had driven him from here in the first place. He had come perilously close to failing one of the people who’d been like family to him over these past few years. On another level he’d also failed D’Artagnan, who’d come to regard him as a mentor in recent months. What kind of example of leadership and brotherhood was that to show the aspiring musketeer?

Ironic, he thought with a grim little smile, that his comrades in arms and the Gascon looked on him with respect for his sense of duty, honour and courage. Did they but know that something he felt like a hollow edifice: a mere shadow of the man who’d once shouldered his inherited role with pride; who’d allowed his heart to open to such a degree that he’d been blinded, hoodwinked, leading to disaster for his family. Yet again he was failing to live up to the trust people had placed in him. Porthos and Aramis, his brothers, who not so long ago had turned themselves inside out to snatch him from the firing squad. The Gascon lad who’d helped them. And Treville, the only other person in Paris who had an inkling as to what had really occurred here at La Fere yet had still offered Athos a chance for a fresh start and a new sense of purpose.  
He shuddered again, the mix of dark memories and feeling of worthlessness pressing around him: choking, claustrophobic. He felt his skin crawl with the tension of it, along with the familiar urge, when things got bad, to reach for the bottle; blot out the pain. But of course it wasn’t an option right now. Oh yes, there was plenty of wine to hand. A well stocked cellar—unless of course any of his former family servants had chosen to help themselves to it. Unlikely, he knew. The house showed no sign of being disturbed since he’d ordered it closed up. He was still the officer responsible for this mission and he needed to stay in control; summon the aristocratic sang froid that allowed him to function as a soldier. It was imperative that he get them all safely away from here without letting his friends find out the truth about his history. That also was not an option.

After a few more steadying breaths he managed to bring himself back to reality. He heard the crunching of footsteps a short distance away and turned his head. He knew of course that it was Aramis.

Once Porthos’s wound had been dressed, D’Artagnan had offered to put together a light meal for them. The wounded musketeer would not come round for a while and it was a chance for them to take a breath ad recharge their strength after an arduous and drama-filled day.

D’Artagnan was on hand if Bonnaire gave any trouble. Aramis had said he needed a bit of fresh air. Also, Athos knew, time to regain his composure. Despite how lightly Aramis appeared to carry his duties as the group’s medic, today talking of his sewing skills in that deftly humorous way he had, Athos knew how deeply the marksman was affected when having to treat his brother’s injuries.  
It was no different for any of them, when one of the others was hurt or in danger. 

Once he knew that D’Artagnan had everything in hand, Athos had come outside with a not dissimilar purpose: to regain his equilibrium. Or at least the appearance of sit, he thought as a small ironic surge of humour passed through him. 

He watched Aramis for a moment, as his friend stopped his perambulation, standing with hands on hips as though to casually survey the scene before him. And that despite looking in the other direction, Aramis was equally aware of his own presence. Then the marksman turned his head and with mutual nods of acknowledgement the friends began to close the short distance between them.

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	2. Chapter 2

Aramis had been outside for several minutes, taking a slow walk around the house, as he tried to put their eventful day into some kind of perspective. He flexed his back and shoulders, wincing a little where the chain had struck him during the fighting. He knew it would feel worse later, when the bruising came out, but at present he had other things on his mind. Now that he’d had a chance to dress Porthos’s wound the marksman’s anxiety levels had subsided to a more managable level but that had been replaced by concern for Athos and his atypical behavior.  
From the outset Athos had protected his privacy fiercely but Aramis had always known his friend came from a privileged background. Athos’s whole demeanour, his speech, breadth of knowledge and leadership skills spoke of good breeding and an excellent education but he was still digesting the revelation that his friend was a peer of the realm. Athos had a hereditary right to be at court, rather than merely guarding those who attended the King.  
He knew that Athos had earned his rise through army ranks, then his place in the Musketeers and their Captain’s trust through merit, not privilege. Like Treville, he and Porthos had faith in Athos’s leadership and were happy to follow his direction in the field. Normally Athos would have given his comrades’ welfare top priority. True, they were under orders to bring Bonnaire back to Paris, but would it really matter in the overall scheme of things if a petty criminal was a few hours late in facing the King’s justice? Concerned though he was for Porthos, Aramis couldn’t help but worry over Athos, despite his residual anger. There was something very off-key about his brother today. 

Aramis was well accustomed to his friend’s cool façade but after all they’d been through together, he’d become adept at reading between the lines; detecting nuances. And all his instincts were telling him that whatever demons had pursued Athos all these years, they had never been closer. Like hounds from hell, yapping at his feet…

The façade was in place, but it was brittle.  
Aramis looked at the house, trying to imagine it as it had been in its heyday. There was an air of desolation, as often hung about unoccupied properties, but overlying that, an air of sorrow. A handsome country mansion; the hub of its district. He’d found himself staring at the walls, mute witnesses to whatever had made its nobleman abandon his birthright. He’d found himself wishing they could speak, so he could figure out how to best help his brother.

Aware of Athos’s approach, he turned towards him.  
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The friends eyed each other for a moment, then Aramis broke the deadlock, waving his hand in the general direction of the outer grounds.

“So…as the house had such a large staff, I assume the estate much be quite extensive?”

“It is”. Athos grabbed onto the conversational branch gratefully. The residual tension from their earlier confrontation hovered in the air between them, “One of the largest in the district. There is a village—Pinon—within the domain, and several outlying farms.” 

“And if we were still being tracked, we were best avoiding the village. The less people who know where we are, the better.”

They exchanged looks. Again, there was a moment of awkward silence then both started to speak at once.

“Look, Athos about—”  
“Aramis. I—"

The marksman’s lips twisted slightly and he inclined his head, offering Athos the chance to speak.

“Aramis, you were right to upbraid me for not stopping to deal with Porthos’s injury. Your judgement in these matters is always sound and I’m sorry that I questioned it.”

Aramis let go of an inner breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. Given Athos’s pride, it was quite something to see his friend back down. The marksman inclined his head graciously.

“With the amount of blood he was losing, it really couldn’t have waited much longer.”  
“A nasty and potentially fatal wound,” Athos agreed. “Will he be fit to travel on today?”

“Well, there seems to be no infection. I’ll check later, of course, but as long as he gets a little rest now and we have a less eventful journey, he should be fine. And takes it easy when we get back to the garrison.”

Athos let out an involuntary snort of amusement. “Ah, well, that’s the trick, isn’t it?”

They exchanged wry glances. Porthos hated to be out of the action and was a notoriously bad patient.

“Walk with me?” Aramis suggested, and Athos nodded, falling into step with his friend. As they strolled along the at the edge of the lawn, Athos felt somewhat surreal. On one level he was the nobleman who often trod this path with his wife; one another as the musketeer listening to his friend saying how one day Porthos would grow wise to their method of putting him under.

His lips quirked slightly as he tried to match the marksman’s light tone.

“Undoubtedly. Then we will all suffer!”

They walked a little further in silence, then came to a fork in the path. Aramis stood for a moment and waited for Athos to decide whether to head deeper into the estate or back to the house and walled garden. Despite Athos’s attempts to look as though everything was normal, to Aramis, his brother’s unease and tension were palpable. As Athos turned back towards the house, he knew he must at least try to probe for the cause of the other’s pain.

“So….we find ourselves here in your family home. You’ve told us that you were De La Fere, but not much else.”

“Because it isn’t relevant, either to my life now, or our mission,” Athos replied in as level a tone as he could manage.

“I’m not so sure about that, my friend,” Aramis said softly. “What I am certain of is that you didn’t want to come back here. In fact, right now, it’s the last place in the world you’d rather be.”

Athos felt his throat go dry as the dark gaze, concerned and insightful, met his; felt as though Aramis could see right through to his core. After a moment, he rallied, managing a semblance of his usual cool tone.

“Really, Aramis--| think you’ve spent too much time in our prisoner’s company! His penchant for the dramatic is rubbing off on you. I’ll admit I wouldn’t have chosen to come back here but it’s part of my past and no longer signifies. You’ll recall what I said when we first started keeping company: that I prefer to keep my life before joining the army private. I have my reasons.”

“And Porthos and I have always respected that. But sometimes, you know, if a thing is shared the burden can be lightened a little.”

The warmth and sincerity in Aramis’s dark gaze almost undid Athos. He felt himself shaking, and almost automatically, his defensive barriers clicked into place.

“What—confession is good for the soul?” he exclaimed snappishly. “Do you try to practice your half-formed priest’s skill on me? You would do better to redirect your prurient curiosity elsewhere. And your healer’s skills to tangible targets like Porthos’s wound. I am fine!”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth he was sorry. He was lashing out undeservedly at Aramis. However, instead of looking upset or annoyed, his friend simply shook his head, offering Athos a patient, even affectionate smile.

“It’s not just prurient curiosity, as well you know. Athos, I know you of old.. If you think by being prickly and sarcastic you can deflect my concern for you—think again.” He laid a hand gently on Athos’s arm. “Just hear me out?”

Their eyes locked again and Athos felt his barriers start to waiver a little. Aramis was a skilled marksman in more ways than one; his perceptiveness was one of the things that made him such a remarkable musketeer—and man.

“Now, I may not be an expert on the nobility but I do know they have a strong sense of their birthright inculcated into them from the cradle. And that while they may have reason to leave their estate, say to go to court or travel, the usual practice would be to leave a family member or steward in charge. I also know how strong your sense of hour and duty is. So I can only think that for you to have turned away from the life you’d been born into, something extreme must have happened here.” His voice sunk almost to a whisper. “And it’s eating you up alive.”

Athos closed his eyes for a moment. Aramis was right on all counts and the nobleman felt himself trembling as though under the weight of his unhappy past.

“It’s true, there was an event here that made me change my direction in life. But it’s in the past and that’s where I prefer to keep it. Rehashing it would serve no purpose. You think you know me,” he declared, voice tinged with irony. “If you knew what really happened here, your opinion of me might not be quite so high.”

Aramis gazed at him intently for a moment: a look that Athos felt almost pierced his soul. Then the marksman shook his head.

“Athos, you’re my friend and brother. There is nothing you could tell me that could diminish that. I know I can also speak for Porthos in this. And surely there can’t be any of us under God’s heaven that haven’t done things we regret, or would have done differently if we could. I certainly have my share. And you must know you can trust us to keep your confidence, should you choose to share it.”

Athos nodded, feeling his voice thickening in his throat. It was a moment before he could bring himself to speak.

“I know that” The corners of his mouth lifted in the familiar sardonic half-smile. “Lets just say that perhaps I prefer to keep your good opinion of me intact.”

“Not going to change.” Again Athos found himself marveling at his friend’s ability to simultaneously sound irreverent and emphatic. “I know it’s your style to keep things to yourself, but if it would help, I’m here, I’ll listen and I won’t judge.”

Athos felt Aramis’s warmth and sincerity enfold him: invisible but nonetheless real. And for a moment it was tempting—so very tempting—just to let go of the past, with someone he trusted. But he was just a little too afraid that the edifice of control that helped him function would crumble. And he needed it to hold together, at least until the end of this mission.

“Aramis. I know you mean for the best, but please, for now, just let this go. We will be away from here shortly. Let’s just concentrate on bringing this bloody mission to an end.”

Aramis nodded, He had no choice but to accede to Athos’s request. But perhaps it had helped his friend a little, just to know there was someone there for him. And it wouldn’t hurt to say it again.

“As long you know that when or if you’re ready to speak about this, the offer is always open.”

“I know, and I thank you for your concern.” Their eyes locked again and for a moment, it felt as though the artic winds blowing around Athos’s soul subsided; he was just a little warmer, a little less alone. One thing he seemed to have gotten right in this life, he thought, was his choice of friends. “Now, hadn’t we best get back and see how our patient is doing?”  
“Indeed we should!” Aramis nodded and grinned. “He’s probably awake by now and having his ear chewed off by Bonnaire!” He made to tug his hat a little further forward on his head and found himself winching as his back muscles protested where he’d sustained a blow during the fight. Athos saw his friend flinch and looked at him in concern

“Aramis?” 

“It’s nothing…” Aramis muttered then scowled as Athos gave him one of his probing, no-nonsense stares. “Well, nothing much. One of those buggers came at me with a chain and I didn’t get out of the way fast enough. It’s a bit sore, that’s all.”

In the melee of the fight, Athos hadn’t seen his friend being hit. Typical of Aramis to play his own problems down, making others his priority.

‘Well, perhaps you’ll let me have a look at it when we get back. I’m sure you have some suitable liniment or salve in that pouch of yours which I can apply. And take it easy when we get back to garrison,” Athos said emphatically. He couldn’t help but smile a little as the scowl increased. “You can help Porthos company…” he added drily.

Aramis realised he was being teased; he didn’t like being a patient any more than Porthos. But it was good to see Athos with a twinkle in his eye and a hint of a smile on his lips. A moment of relief, in the middle of a dark day.

“Touche!” he said with a self-deprecating grin. ‘Now let us go and rescue our friend from Bonnaire’s prattle!”

“Indeed. He has suffered quite enough for one day!”  
And shoulder to shoulder, the friends turned as one and made their way back towards the house.

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End file.
